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 The dark eyes of the Lady Abbess flashed and her breast heaved with suppressed emotion.

“Have a care, Julius!” she said. “Do not goad me too far.”

“Be so kind, fair cousin, as to remember the amount of your indebtedness to me.”

“Indebtedness!” The Mother Superior laughed in derision. “Indebtedness is a good word, Julius. I am indebted to you for a rest which is not peace―a calm which is not submission―an endurance my fate which has no kin to resignation. I tell you, Julius, that the man or woman whom worldliness drives into the convent or cloister, is not delivered from the evil passions of the world. The consecrated garments of the Church, as you well know, leave the breast above which they are folded precisely what it was before.”

“See to it, my lady, that you keep such heretical doctrines locked securely in your own bosom. You are indebted to me, and you know it. I have provided you with what your soul craves―position, power, and, above all,” he added significantly, “with a house of refuge. Furthermore, those privileges and extensions which you are desirous of having this convent secure rest entirely upon my recommendations. Submit to my will, and your requests shall be granted. Refuse, and I will see to it that your power is materially limited.

These words brought the Lady Abbess to